


Mabel Darcy's Diary

by HazelRiver



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Alternature Universe, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fingering, Mention of Daddy Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman, age gap, lots of discussion of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelRiver/pseuds/HazelRiver
Summary: This is an alternate universe where Mark and Bridget had their daughter Mabel immediately following the events of Edge of Reason, when Bridget was just about 34. Now Mabel is coming home from university for winter break and her boyfriend is an unexpectedly familiar face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t want to do this in true diary still as I’m not very strong at writing in first person, so I’ve sort of combined that by writing in a very colloquial style that I hope reminds you all of Bridget’s voice (I imagine her daughter would have a similar tone.) It’s just silly nonsense that I hope you enjoy!

Snow sifted down in a fine powder that crunched beneath Mabel Darcy’s boots and caught in the wispy, greying hair of her boyfriend. Her very _real_ boyfriend of four months and sixteen days gave her hand a tight squeeze as he helped her out of his car and let the door shut tight behind her. At twenty year’s old she had yet to find much success in the love department; there had always been other things to prioritize, as there still was—but finally, university student and girlfriend of much older, successful gentleman, Mabel Darcy was in love and was loved in return!

At least, he promised that she was loved in return, he had said so _three_ times already. First a month ago, in bed with his mouth buried against her neck and crisp button down pressed against her bare breasts as he skipped work and she skipped class so they could be together for the start of a long weekend. Next was just a week ago over the phone, after her last class before winter break, and after she had given him her Chipotle order as she was making her way from campus toward his flat that he had given her a key to enter whenever she liked. Then finally that morning as they’d awoken in the wrinkled pink sheets of her dormitory where they had fallen asleep with all the lights and electric on again, another night of Netflix and Chill turned into Netflix and Sleeping Fully Dressed.

Mabel had crawled out of bed first, leaving him to sleep a few moments longer while she turned the lights off before heading to the loo to pee and brush her teeth. Slipping out of the jeans that she’d stretched in the night, Mabel was comfortable in just her sweater and panties after having slept with the heat on. She took her reflected image in with a grim smile, sheet creases were prevalent on her round cheeks, her blonde wavy hair was all knotted, and she’d definitely gained weight during midterms. Shrugging those worries away, Mabel reached for her makeup bag. He’d called her out, multiple times, on dabbing little smears of foundation and mascara before he could see her fresh faced but Mabel applied the makeup anyways—more out of wanting to irritate him into commenting on how pretty she was with or without makeup than out of any insecurity around him.

“God darling, I’m sorry, I don’t even remember falling asleep last night.” He’d groaned from her bed, exaggeratedly rubbing his eyes. Mabel adored how he looked in the morning, all fluffy hair and relaxed eyes, somehow younger than he did at night but still the grumpy old bugger with whom she’d fallen in love.

“It’s fine, I was just about to wake you up when I fell asleep myself, actually.” She sank back onto the bed to crawl toward him, enjoying the pleasure that took over his features as she grew close enough for him to kiss her, pulling her to straddle his lap.

“I fear my age is rubbing off on you, Mabes.” With the ceiling lights off the room was doused in a serene, quiet grey that quite suited the man beneath her. Crow’s feet wrinkles were hidden by the thick-rimmed glasses that framed crystalline eyes, the grey of his hair was surprisingly soft as she ran her fingers through it, his thin lips puckered tenderly against her own eager ones.

“That’s not all that’s rubbing off on me…” An unsubtle grind of her hips pulled a low grunt from him that accompanied his hands gripping her arse.

“You minx, no wonder I’m so bloody gone on you…”

“So bloody gone on me? How romantic.” With faux annoyance she began slithering away, but he wouldn’t let her go far—he never did. Seemingly effortlessly, he slipped his hands around an ankle and wrist before tossing her back on the bed to press himself down on top of her with a look of mock menace.

“What do you want to hear, you attention-craving whore?” The sheets were still warm from their sleep and Mabel wriggled against them, body completely relaxed and sagging in his trusted hold. Then a cackle escaped her ribs as her wrists were trapped above her head and he, slightly breathless and panting with effort, began sucking kisses into her exposed throat,

“Do I not tell you often enough how completely in love with you I am, hm? Do you want to hear how you’ve changed my ways—gotten an old bugger of a playboy to settle down against his will?” His grin grew from teasing to positively devilish as he went on, “Tamed a wild beast with this magic box of yours!” At that, one of his hands slid down to find the damp silk between her legs, “Ah! I was correct, adoration and praise _do_ do it for you!”

“Shut up, just fuck me!” Mabel thrust against him without any true attempt at escaping, too distracted by the feeling of his skilled fingers stroking over her heat.

“Not till you tell me that you love me too,” His fingers slipped past the silk, “that I’m your first and only,” The words murmured against the pounding pulse in her neck brought back memories of her first time and his sweet words that had coaxed her through it, “that you’ll never leave your geriatric love for a spring chick!” He’d pressed into her with the light filtering in from the window behind him, casting him in silhouette as Mabel desperately clung at the wrinkled shirt he still wore.

“Oh god, I love you! You know that I love you!”

\--

Needless to say, they had been quite late in getting on the road that morning. Mabel had texted her mother with an apologetic text from the car, being sure to use multiple praying-hand-emojis to imply that she was praying for forgiveness. Her mother, the sweetest and most forgiving human on the planet, had sent back kissy faces and heart eyes that Mabel’s boyfriend had inexplicably laughed aloud at from his seat behind the wheel.

“We made good time, actually.” Mabel murmured to him as she wrapped her knuckles across the door of her childhood home. Her boyfriend murmured his agreement, holding the gifts that she’d packed and looking suddenly tense and nervous, “Don’t stress it, love, they’re going to love you.”

Her mother’s voice sounded from behind the door and Mabel could no longer pay attention to her nervous boyfriend—after all, it was he who had reassured her only an hour ago that in over fifty years on earth he had actually managed to charm a few parents of girls, so would Mabel please stop staring at him like that—

“Mabel!” Her mother’s grip was strong enough to pull her into the house so that she faced the outside, smiling apologetically at her boyfriend over her mum’s shoulder as she allowed herself to be squeezed.

“Mum!”

“Have you brought the boyfriend?” Mabel’s father’s voice floated in from the kitchen, where she imagined he was doing all of the cooking while her mother watched from her usual spot at the barstool near the kitchen island.

In one dangerously tight hug all of Mabel’s worries about university and her boyfriend and her internship and postgraduate school melted away. Her mum’s hugs were like magic, strangling magic, but magic nonetheless. The warm grip of her mum, the sound of her dad heading in from the kitchen, and the smell of Christmas dinner in the oven were enough to make her feel like a child at home again.

This overwhelming nostalgia was broken as soon as Bridget released to her daughter and turned to the man still standing on the doorstep,

“Oh! And Daniel, you look great! Mark didn’t tell me you were coming, it’s really been too long—oh and look, you’ve got gifts, you really must come inside-”

“Mum how do you know Daniel?”

“How do _I_ know Daniel?”

Both blondes turned to the silver fox in question then, just as Mark Darcy appeared behind his wife and daughter—a look of joyed surprise breaking into a smile as he took in his old friend. They had made up months before Bridget and Mark had been married, before Bridget had had the baby even, before Daniel had left to take a broadcasting position in Australia for the next two decades.

“Daniel! You’re back, how was the bush?” The cheekiness in her father’s voice combined with the guilty way Daniel began pulling his chin back into his neck sent a rush of panic through Mabel, whose mother seemed to have already put the pieces together. As Mabel opened her mouth to ask for another clarification on how her parents knew her lover, Bridget beat her to the punch.

“Daniel Cleaver are you dating our daughter?”

“Mum!” Mabel’s scolding tone was ignored, all eyes pinned to the guest on the doorstep.

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, Bridge…I’ve fallen in love with her.”

“You fuck!”

It was not the first time Mabel had seen her father lose his temper in her life. There was the time he had gotten into a screaming match with the father of a school bully when Mabel was only entering her second year of grade school, the time her father had shoved the father of the boy who had stood Mabel up for prom, and then there were countless times in her youth that she had sat in the backseat of his car and watched him quietly seethe over numerous indiscretions before bursting out with insults through gritted teeth while Bridget either vigorously agreed with loud bouts of cursing or rubbed his arm to soothe him. None of these moments compared to the sight of her father pushing past her to punch her boyfriend, Daniel Cleaver, in the face. On Daniel’s fall to the ground the gifts that Mabel had agonized over for weeks crumbled to the snow, their fall deafened by the resounding _crunch_ of his body hitting the ground.

“Mark!” Bridget’s voice was lost over the sound of her daughter’s scream,

“Dad! Are you crazy?” Mabel could not help but to rush forward, stepping over the broken bottle of wine and Christmas biscuits, to get to Daniel who was clutching at his nose.

“Mabel get in the house this instant.” It was her father’s ‘no questions allowed’ voice, but Mabel paid him no mind as Daniel pulled his hand away to reveal blood gushing out of nostrils.

“Oh shit, Daniel you’re bleeding! He’s lucky he didn’t crack his head open, Dad!” Daniel was muttering as he pushed on his nose with both hands, blood dripping over his fingers and onto the charcoal tweed of his coat.

“He’ll wish he’d cracked his head open by the time I’m through with him. Mabel, get in the house!” Mark’s words came out in short bursts, as if each one was a struggle of self-control, as he stood with his fists clenched and pulse visibly throbbing at his jaw.

“Absolutely not! You’ve just decked my first proper boyfriend, we’re going home. Come on Daniel, sit up.” Awkwardly and without much success, Mabel wrapped Daniel’s arm around her shoulders and struggled into a squatting position, halfway on the path to standing.

“No, Mabel, don’t go home! Mark Darcy if she goes home you will be sleeping on the couch for the next-” Mabel paused, in utter shock as she watched her mother turn on her father—she’d never seen anything like it. Not that her mother blindly followed her father, quite the opposite really—they were always bickering—but Mabel had never won an argument with her father before, he was a lawyer after all.

“Bridget,” Mark seemed as if he was trying to explain simple addition to mental patients, “he’s dating our Mabel, you don’t know what this man is capable of.”

“I think I know as well as anyone what Daniel Cleaver is capable of, thank you very much. You weren’t the one who spent time in Thai prison because of him.” With that said Bridget Darcy looked past her husband and to her daughter who remained on the lawn, half squatting under the weight of her bleeding boyfriend, “Now come along Mabel, bring your horrible boyfriend into the house and get changed so we can have Christmas dinner.”

\--

The sound of her parent’s fighting travelled up the stairs and into Mabel’s bedroom to fill her with guilt. They hardly ever fought this seriously, or this loudly. The young blonde sat on the bed, feet dangling over the edge in a manner that she would have never dared attempt as a child (due to the boogeyman who definitely lived under her bed), watching Daniel shove toilet paper up his nose in front of the bathroom mirror. It was odd to see him in her childhood bedroom, pastel pinks and yellows covered every inch of the bedroom and the bathroom was (embarrassingly enough) Disney princess themed, but it was even more odd to think of his relationship with her parents.

After he had gained the ability to walk after her father’s punch, they’d wobbled up the stairs and he’d relaxed on her bed while telling her the whole story: her father’s first wife, lying to mum about who had done the cheating, dating mum, her parents breaking up, a lawsuit over a fist fight that sent them through a restaurant window, mum and Daniel almost sleeping together in Thailand (then something about a prostitute that he brushed off too quickly for her to properly process), Thai prison for mum, and another public fist fight. It was a lot to take in, and so very dramatic, but Daniel didn’t press her as he washed away blood.

“Why didn’t you say something, Daniel? You know my last name, I mean you’ve seen me—there’s no mistaking I’m my mum’s daughter.”

“No, no there’s not.” Mabel seriously did NOT want to think about Daniel fucking mum, but there it was—an image she would never be able to erase.

He turned back to her, still heartbreakingly handsome even with wads of toilet paper shoved up his nose and skin still pink from the impact, and leaned against the doorway between bedroom and bathroom.

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it might be weird for you.”

“Oh ta Daniel, this isn’t weird at all!”

They both remained still, staring at each other for a long while as the reality of the situation truly took hold of then. It was ridiculous, completely bloody bonkers. The sort of mad situation that could only take place in her family, she was sure. Mabel was the first to start laughing, first little giggles that bubbled into painful, sidesplitting laughter as Daniel collapsed on the bed next to her, chuckling as well.

Mabel sighed, rolling onto her side so that they were facing each other. His nostrils were stretched with toilet paper and nose all purple and swollen, it was going to be a nasty bruise—the indent of her father’s wedding ring was just at the top of Daniel’s right cheekbone, she wondered how he would explain that at work on Monday. Blue eyes sought her out, once the giggling at quieted a tentative silence fell between them as Mabel extended gentle fingers to stroke above his split lip.

“So, am I forgiven?” He was charming. It bothered her that she was so easily swayed by his posh voice and pleading eyes.

“Daniel Cleaver, you are an absolute dog.”

“I’ve been told, love. Don’t you think your father punching me is punishment enough for the breach of trust?” Inching closer, so that their noses brushed when Mabel tilted her head down into the blanket.

“I dunno,” It was muffled by material, “how did you think this was going to play out? Maybe my parents would die by the time we knocked on the door or what?”

Daniel laughed too much at her joke as an extension of his apology but did not offer a real answer. She peaked her head up from the blanket, allowing him to cradle her face in her grip. There was no doubting that she had already forgiven him, she loved him.

“Now tell me Mabes, do you ever think you’ll find a shag as good as me? Or a boy as considerate as me?  Be honest,” At this she rolled her eyes but nodded her agreement, accepting the chaste kiss that he pressed to her forehead, “would you ever _want_ to let me go?”

“No,” Mabel yawned, allowing her body to slink closer to his warm body. The way her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin was further confirmation that supported her idea that they were meant to be together, the easy way he wrapped his arms around her were just a bonus. To be in her childhood room but not feel like she was home until Daniel pressed a kiss to the top of her head made her heart stutter and ache with the bittersweet pain that was leaving behind childhood, “No, I don’t ever want to let you go.”

\--

Dinner was a quiet affair. It was obvious that Bridget had threatened something drastic enough to make Mark sit in silence, grinding his teeth and overeating to keep his mouth too full to answer any of Daniel’s numerous responses on what the Darcy’s had been up to in the last twenty years since he had last seen them. Bridget fielded those questions with ease, answering each one with just enough politeness not to seem rude before turning the conversation back to Mabel and Mabel’s schooling. It was rather tiring to keep up with while trying to eat.

Daniel would try, “So, Mark, why did you give up the house in the city?”

And Mark would take a big bite of the turkey, which had ended up being over cooked, providing an awkward moment of silence before Bridget could swoop in,

“When Mabel was born we thought the suburbs were a better atmosphere to raise a baby. Now Mabel, how did your sociology midterm go?”

Then Mabel would give a much longer answer than necessary. And repeat, until the food was gone and Mark dismissed himself into his study.

“I’m going to go grab a shower, love, if you don’t mind.” Daniel exited with a slight wink and awkward wave to Mabel’s mum before taking the stairs two by two.

“You know,” Bridget spoke as she washed the dishes and Mabel dried them with the same rag they’d been using since she was a baby, “if your father didn’t know Daniel he’d most likely approve—well, he’d probably still have a bit of a problem with his age, mind you—but Daniel’s a good man, he’s grown a lot since we first met him. Deep down, I think your dad knows that.”

Mabel was surprised by this freely given praise, by her mum’s sudden ease to adjust to change.

“I doubt dad would ever say that, though.” Mabel said, shrugging with the heaviness of the idea of her father hating the man that could very well sire his grandchildren.

“Oh your dad has a funny way of coming around when it comes to Daniel, you’ll see.”

“Why’re you telling me this? Mum, if anyone should be mad at him it should be you—you said so yourself, and Daniel told me what he did to you, that was horrible, I had no idea-”

“Oh Mabel, don’t be silly.” Bridget turned the sink off to fully face her daughter, who reminded her so much of herself sometimes it scared her. It wasn’t just in looks that they were similar, though that too was eerie, but the strong jut of her chin and confident height in her shoulders.

“If you really do love Daniel, and I can see you do care about him, don’t let something as silly as your father or a relationship that happened over twenty-five years ago stop you from getting him. Your dad will come around, you just make sure that you’re happy. That’s all we really want, love.”

\--

By the time Mabel had made it back upstairs Daniel was already in bed with the lights off, not snoring but laying quiet enough that she could assume he wasn’t in the mood for much discussion. Probably had a splitting headache, too. When she showered and had slipped into one of his oversized shirts and boxers, the bathroom light slipped across the room and poured in a sharp triangle onto Daniel’s slumbering figure. He stirred even after she’d clicked the door shut and turned toward her at the shift of her weight joining him on the bed.

“Hi.” In their flats they never whispered, even late at night when his neighbors could surely hear them in full discussion they didn’t lower their voices, Mabel couldn’t get herself to—she loved talking to him, it was one of her favorite things to do, and to hear his silken voice in response…

“Love? Where’d you go?” His whisper was hoarse, gravelly with sleep and exhaustion.

“I’m here.” Kissing him was more natural than swimming might have been at that point in her life, he tilted her chin at the perfect angle, their noses brush in the most alluring ways.

“All good?”

“All good.” Her response was nearly upstaged by the rustling of bedsheets and pajamas as she shifted, rolling her weight onto her side so she could tuck her body against him with her head pressed onto his chest. Tossing her leg across his body gave him access to slide his hand down her back, eagerly grabbing hold of her bum with an appreciative grip.

“Can I ask you something, Daniel?”

“Uh oh.”

Her eyes were closed but it was not hard to picture the look of dread he was pulling, always with the drama with Daniel Cleaver.

“Was I competing with my mum at first? Was this some sort of sick-”

“Mabes, stop. No, for fuck’s sake.” But he wasn’t annoyed as he sounded, not even a little. The hand at her arse moved up to stroke through her hair, over and over again, fingers dancing against her back with each slide. Pulse loud under her head, she listened to the thick sound of the beat, beat, beat, beat that was near rocking her to sleep when a sudden thought jolted her awake.

“Oh Christ, what now?”

“You once asked me if I called my father _daddy_ , and then asked if I could call you _daddy_ -”

His chuckles rocked her head, lulling her body as he shook—ribs contracting beneath her as Daniel struggled not to awaken her parents who slept just across the hall. That thought sent him into another fit of laughter, the need not to laugh only worsened the situation until Mabel sat up in bed and watched her middle aged boyfriend cry through silent chuckles. Eyes squeezed tight and room dark, she would have never guessed his age if she hadn’t known him before then.

“What’s so funny?” She finally asked, after shoving a pillow into the density of his chest, “You’re the one who wanted to hear it, _daddy_.”

“Fuck, please don’t! Not with your real arsehole of a dad just across the hall waiting to kick my ass.”

This was a game Mabel liked very much, it was the game that had gotten them together—the game of forbidden romance. She had only thought that their relationship was forbidden because he was the Executive Producer of the broadcasting company she was interning at, if only he had shared the true extremity of their forbidden situation. Encouraged by his amusement, Mabel was quick to slip her hand onto his chest and lean over him. The intimacy of her movements finally stilled his body, which shivered at the sensation of her breasts brushing his chest while she dipped down to press a salacious kiss into the crest of his collarbone. From that close she could see his darkening age spots and feel the rapid thrumming of heat beneath his shirt.

“What’s wrong, daddy? I thought you wanted me.” Their lips met in the blackness, hers plump and teasing against his chapped, thin ones.

“Christ, Mabel. Not now. Are you bloody crazy? Your parents are—shit!” His reasoning fell apart when a tight hand wrapped itself around him.

“Quiet, daddy, or you’ll wake my parents.”

“OH fucking hell.”

\--

“Is there anything I could have done to change this?” Mark Darcy asked as he closed the trunk of Daniel Cleaver’s car, locking his daughter’s luggage into position.

“Absolutely not, dad. I mean, this has absolutely nothing to do with you, really.”

The snow came down heavier that day than it had all of winter break. The New Year started in just a few hours and Daniel was dragging her along to a broadcasting party, they had no time for her grandma’s turkey curry buffet—for which Mabel was incredibly grateful. Her father was already in his horrendously festive reindeer jumper, patiently searching his daughter’s eyes for some sort of hint or explanation for Daniel Cleaver. Honestly, Mabel reasoned with herself, she wished she had an explanation for him too.

“Should I be worried about the age difference—is this a hint about me working too much, was I not around to give you the older male attention that you need? Are you filling a void? You know that I’m in the city all the time, Mabel, I’d be more than happy-”

“Dad, please.” Mabel laughed and set her hands on her father’s long arms, squeezing the muscles there with a bright smile, “I don’t need to hear mum’s theories on this one, alright?” Her dad smiled at that, a guilty one that was complemented by a pinkish blush that should not have looked so sweet on a man of his age, “Thanks dad, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie. No matter what.” Mabel nodded, finally stepping away from her dad and sliding into the warm car with a sigh of relief from the cold.

She and Daniel waved as they pulled away, the image of Mark Darcy standing in the driveway seemed frozen until he was just a dot on the porch. Daniel had the radio on some inane jolly channel but didn’t hum along, even at his age he seemed too cool for Christmas cheer, though he exuded happiness. Mabel reached out to graze a patch of hair above his ear,

“I think this bit whitened in your sleep.”

“I would like to blame the stress of the weekend.”

“Not your old age?” Mabel teased as she stretched her legs out onto the dashboard.

“You love my old age.”

“I do,” She conceded without a fight, just to see the dimples that appeared when he smiled at her acceptance, “my father doesn’t so much, but I do.”

“Speaking of your father, do you want to hear something funny?”

They rolled past Bridget’s mum and dad’s house, Mabel pointed out the village with a finger stubbed against the foggy glass. Daniel’s comments were rehearsed, polite, it was clear he was waiting to see if he had piqued her interest. Of course he had, he always did.

“Alright what’s funny?”

“Listen, I’ve shagged your dad’s ex-wife, wife, and daughter. All that’s left is dear old mummy Darcy, off to grandmother’s house we go!”

“Ugh! You’re disgusting!” But she was laughing at the vulgarity, horrified that she could find the idea of sharing him with all of those people, but incapable of being angry about a past that had occurred before she was born. She still loved the man after all, even if he was a complete and utter arsehole almost all of the time.

“What’re you thinking?” Daniel pressed at her silence, eyes flitting between her and the road.

“Just drive, handsome. I’ll tell you when we get home.”


	2. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon request, this is Daniel and Mabel's first meeting, the development of their relationship, and the first night they spend together. xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I intended to update much sooner, but I've had some good news in the break: my first novel is being published in October, yay! I'm working on my second now, but this idea has been rolling around in the back of my head for far too long. So, sorry for the delay, but I hope you'll enjoy! If you have any more requests about these two, anything else you'd like to see me explore, please let me know. I could always use the distraction :) I really hope you'll enjoy and comment!! xxx

Mabel Darcy had prepared in every way that she could think to prepare for her first day at her very adult and professional and important internship. Black skirt-suit that hinted at that of a sexy librarian? Tick. Blonde hair straightened to severity near her shoulders? Tick. Perfect shade of pink lipstick chosen to match both her silk blouse and the embroidery of her velvet heels? Tick, tick, and tick!

Mabel Darcy, BBC Travel Content Strategy Intern for the new show _Just Around the Corner_. How adult, indeed.

What she had not prepared for was running into the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in her life, just before entering the lobby.

They had briefly caught eyes on the sidewalk as she stepped out of her cab, him suave in pressed black trousers and a lavender button down and Mabel feeling suddenly out of her depth as she took in the perfect silver of his hair and broad stretch of his shoulders. He glanced away quickly, crystalline eyes hidden as he looked down with a furrowed expression. He had to be in his mid to late fifties at least, she decided. Still. Absolutely. Fucking. Gorgeous.

With a bit of manipulation, the slowing of his pace and the quickening of her heels on the pavement, they timed their meeting at the heavy set of glass doors leading into the building.

“Christ.” The man—the utterly stunning silver fox—stumbled to a stop, his hand frozen on the closed door with a look of surprise etched into each wrinkle. Up close she could nearly count all of them, four crow’s feet around each eye, five waves across his forehead, the memory of a dimple stretched across each cheek-

“What?” The memory of Mabel’s grandmum’s voice irked her to dumbly correct, “Er, pardon, rather?”

“Sorry you look like—well, you’re the spitting image of’—” But the thought died on his lips as he took her in, eyes roving up and down her figure, shocked expression turning to one of appreciation, “Never mind. Daniel Cleaver.”

He removed his hand from the door to offer it to her, smile broadening as she slipped her small hand into his grasp. She grinned at the firm squeeze he gave her palm,

“Mabel Darcy.”

“Darcy?” His eyes verged on bugging for the flash of a moment, before he straightened his expression and thoughtfully bit his lip.

“Yes, why?” She may have been young and inexperienced, but Mabel Darcy could tell a man who was stalling to flirt when she came by one.

“Nothing it’s just I thought that name had died with Jane Austen herself.”

“I’m ‘fraid not.” With a nod toward the glass doors Mabel asked, “Are you...?”

“Christ, yes, sorry. After you.”

She was thankful she had chosen the tighter of the suits she had tried on, positive the skirt sculpted her arse as he followed her into the cool grey lobby. It was an impressive building, all sleek colors and shiny countertops and transparent doors leading to sharp corners and more transparent doors. Mabel had been there twice before, for her interviews, but still felt rather overwhelmed by the grand glossiness of the design. 

A line at reception greeted them and Mabel hesitated as she moved to stand behind a man closer to Daniel’s age than her own.

“So what channel are you on? I’m afraid I don’t recognize you.” 

“Recognize me?” He practically purred, managing to swagger closer to her without achieving a drunk-in-the-daytime appearance. Daniel was quite tall, Mabel wrote it off as an accomplishment.

“Well you’re too good looking to be behind the camera, obviously. Have you taken over home-shopping?” She thought that was rather smooth of her, and his sly smile hinted that he agreed.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” He didn’t sound sorry at all, not with that frisky look in his eyes, “but I’m actually the Executive Producer of BBC Travel’s new show: _Just Around the Corner_. May I ask what brings you in today?”

“Oh bollocks, of course. I start my internship for _Just Around the Corner_ , as fate would have it.”

“Right, of course.”

“Quite.” 

 

—

 

Work was exciting, and less challenging than Mabel had prepared herself for. The show was a pretty basic concept, something that Daniel stressed was what made it so brilliant. They sent a camera crew and two hosts out across the country, to the little nooks and crannies of England, and filmed quaint stories about locals that warmed hearts and made the world feel a little bit smaller. All of the in-house work was writing, storyboarding, and editing—which meant that most of Mabel’s time was spent sat around a table, chowing down on whatever junk the writers’ had her order, writing on the blackboard, sticking post-it notes onto the bulletin board, and fetching tea.

Very little of her job required her to be a creative thinker, really she was just a glorified, underpaid secretary, but Mabel liked it. She felt important, enjoyed being around writers pitching ideas and calling proud mayors begging to have Sue Perkins or Mel Giedroyc come interview them in their town square, and she happened to love preening whenever Daniel walked past the writer’s room and waved to her. There were few things better than Daniel’s coy smirks through the glass doors of the writer’s room, and those were summed up by shared lift rides in the morning, him asking her to go on a coffee run when the writers stayed late, and the single time he asked her if she would mind running down to his car to fetch his phone. Which had been a very exciting day, really.

It was possible that after that first meeting on her first day at work, when Daniel had waited for her to sign in and receiver her badge then had helpfully directed her to the lift and up into the office, that her boss did not exactly treat her equal to the other intern. His name was Chris, and they got on instantly—bonding immediately over appreciating Daniel’s fantastic arse and eyes.

It was six months into her internship, in the spring, after Chris had caught Mabel using a permanent marker to draw a smiley face on the cardboard sleeve on Daniel’s coffee, that he immediately pointed out the way Daniel’s hand had lingered for too long Mabel’s shoulder.

“It was an accident—you’re reading too far into this!” Mabel brushed off his teasing as they stepped out of the lift and into the lobby. It was so familiar to her at that point, that she found it rather funny to remember how it’s sterile appearance had first intimidated her.

“If you weren’t his intern,” Chris said as they headed toward the doors, the lobby quiet as time stretched toward midnight and anyone not working in television was presumably either home or at the pub, “I really do think he’d give you a fantastic seeing-to.” 

“Oh come off it!” Mabel laughed, head tossed back in amusement, even as flashes of gleeful pride shot through her veins.

“No I mean it Darcy, he’s got it bad. ‘ _Mabes_ could you copy this?’” Chris used Daniel’s nickname for her as he put on an exaggeratedly posh accent that had her chortling in amusement as he swaggered forward, “‘Right, _Mabes,_ would you mind running down to finals for me? _Mabes_ could you sit on my cock?’”

Mabel’s laughter peaked into a squeal as they flashed their badges at the scanner required to make the revolving doors moved after hours, and stepped onto the street.

“He would NOT say that.” An unflattering snort left her as Chris (as dramatic as always) hurriedly shook his head to refute her words, while she looked down to shove her badge into the black hole that was her handbag. Even as she denied her friend’s claims, heat burned through her at the slight chance of Chris being correct. Was it possible, after all of her daydreaming about it, that she had not been overreacting to casual flirtations? Could Daniel actually be interested in her?

“Oh please! He would! ‘ _Mabes_ can I get your opinion on these few things? See here it’s just, erm, yars, your work, Christopher’s work, my cock up your ar-’”

 “Christopher!” She only half-scolded, cheeks flushed and shoulders shaking as she leaned toward him and clutched his arm for support, eyes watering in hysterics at his rude impression.

“Now, now! Who would say such vulgar things to our Miss Darcy?” Daniel’s voice was undeniable from behind Mabel, and she felt Chris stiffen in horror as they turned to see their boss stepping out from one of the pillars supporting the building.

“Fuck me.” Chris muttered, and Mabel had to agree. Cleaver looked delicious. Shirtsleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, graying hair lit by the streetlights and passing traffic, an E-cigarette hanging casually from his fingers.

“Sorry mate, but you’re just not my type.” The quip was nearly lost on the buzzing in Mabel’s ears, her own blood thunderously pumping in panic at exactly how much Daniel had possibly overheard. 

“Are you lot heading this way?” Their boss jerked his head behind him toward the parking garage, not seeming to feel the need to comment on what he may-or-may-not-have heard.

“I’m going North actually,” Chris supplied, waving his fold-up bike at Daniel, “so that’s me off. See you Monday, Mabes. Daniel.”

“Yeah, bye Chris.” Mabel did not need to thank him for leaving so quickly, but his unsubtle wink did a plentiful job of answering her grateful eyes.

“Cheers.” Daniel murmured, the blue light of his E-cig dimming in his grasp. 

They stood together, neither seeming sure of what to say as Chris stopped at the corner to climb onto his bike. A car passed and, after it had gone, the absence of the noise only emphasized the silence between them

“He’s a...good guy.” Mabel tried, her blush violently deepening when she turned to find Daniel’s eyes studying her face. Crystalline eyes darted between her eyes, traced down the curve of her nose, contemplated the pout of her lips before flicking back to her inquisitive gaze. She wondered if he could see the heat in her cheeks, as she felt as if she was nearly burning alive on the pavement. Did he know, then? How terribly she was crushing on him?

It was the first time they had been alone since her first day, certainly the first time they had spoken outside of the office.

“Which way are you heading, Mabes?”

“Uh back to my flat,” His eyebrows quirked and she suddenly wondered if he knew that she had a dormitory on campus, “it’s not far from here.”

“You walk?” He asked, thoughtlessly bringing the E-cigarette up to his lips, only to scrunch his face up and shove it into his pocket when he remembered he had turned it off.

“Usually, yeah. Sometimes I take the tube but it’s just been so bloody hot I can’t stand to be that close to people. The smell is fucking otherworldly, I swear I—”At his raised eyebrows, bemusement twinkling in his blue eyes, Mabel interrupted herself, “I’m rambling, sorry. Yes, I walk.”

A half smile had taken over his lips, crooked and devastatingly attractive. He seemed taller, somehow, outside of the office. And to be standing closer to her than she remembered, close enough that if she turned her body just a smidge, her elbow would brush against his. She did, and his smile widened. 

“Why don’t I give you a lift? I’m parked just down the street, unless you’re in a rush?” The uptick of the question said he knew that there was no chance she would deny herself the opportunity to get in his car.

Not thinking of the fact that she had just lied by not mentioning that she was very much living in a dormitory on university property, Mabel answered too quickly,

“No, no rush. That’d be great, thanks.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she followed his lead down the street. He walked too close, but not close enough to touch—just enough that she could feel the wind from his swinging hand tickling her wrist.

“I’m feeling rather starved actually,” He spoke as if he had only just thought of it, “there’s this tapas place not far from here. Fancy a bite?”

 

—

 

The tapas place turned out to be a fully functioning bar that’s menu (which, in all fairness to Daniel, did have an entire insert dedicated to tapas) explained that the establishment only served food until nine at night. They arrived after midnight, and Daniel did not seem bothered by the lack of food, odd for someone who had claimed to be starving only fifteen minutes before. The car ride had gone well enough, Mabel assured herself as Daniel’s long fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her through the scattered tables (all filled with drunken people facing a band covering classic rock) toward the bar. They had managed to fill the silence of the car with chatter about work nonsense: Chris’ complicated love life, Awful Annie’s terrible breath, whether or not Mel and Sue had ever been an item.

“What do you drink?” Daniel asked her after they had joined the crowd around the bar, the touch of his hand warm through her blouse and his nose nudging her cheek as he waited for a response.

Mabel was emboldened by the loud music, the red overhead lights, the buzzing crowd, the way his fingers tightened on her waist when she leaned forward and accidentally-on-purpose brushed her breasts against his chest. With excitement coursing through her, she made a show of wrapping an arm up around his neck to pull him close as she placed her free palm on the flat plain of his chest.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Daniel’s eyebrows rose at her sultry tone and the hand at her waist wrapped to rest on her lower back, tugging her a little closer as he leaned toward the barmaid.

“I need to see your ID, luv.” The redhead behind the bar said, tattooed arm extended out to where Mabel found herself leaning against the length of Daniel’s body. Embarrassment sunk whatever pride had been budding at her successful attempt at seducing her boss.

“Excuse me?” Daniel laughed, and Mabel was curious to see pink creeping up into his cheeks. She wondered if he liked being with a woman who looked so young, or if felt a bit pervy for holding her so tight. Either way, they had an audience, a man nearby whistled and Daniel bristled at the noise, straightening slightly even as Mabel leaned closer to him.

Unsurprised by the request, Mabel (having left her oversized bag in the back of Daniel’s car) fished her card out of her pocket and passed it over to the barmaid, who gave it a careful study before passing it back.

“Christ, please tell me that’s not a fake.”

Mabel laughed at the worried arch of his brows, the stern set of his lips as he attempted to peak at her card. He looked so serious, so worried, that Mabel could not help but tease him further—liking the attention of their audience, liking the age difference between them, the utterly forbidden feeling of being out in a pub with her boss, of knowing that everyone around them assumed truly perverse things about them.

“Relax, old man. I’m all legal.” She did not mention that she would not turn twenty for another few months, so technically had only been legal for a bit longer than a year. Why give the man a heart attack?

An eavesdropping woman beside them at the bar huffed and, with an indignant performance of collecting her cardigan, pushed between them and toward the exit. Mabel said nothing about the flash of heat in Daniel’s eyes at the flirtatious way she saddled back up to him, but they shared looks of amusement with the barmaid as she passed them spilling pints of beer.

It was three drinks and an hour later, after the band had finished the first half of their set and were being bombarded with offers for free drinks from fans at the bar, that Daniel expressed his hunger again. They had covered all sorts of conversation, and Mabel was amazed at the complete lack of effort it took to keep up the dialogue.

Huddled together in the back of the bar, knees knocking together as they sat tucked away in a dark booth, she asked him about his twenty years working in Australian television, he told her of the plane crash that had left him stranded in the outback for two nights and a very hot day before some farmers scooped him up and nursed him back to health, and Mabel talked of university and only having a year left and then the complete lack of direction she felt—aside from knowing she wanted to continue to work in telly.

That comment seemed to come back to Daniel, after he had paid and ushered her back out to the street, as they headed toward the side street he had parked along, though it took him a bit of beating around the bush to bring it up.

“I have food at my place, you know, as many do.” Mabel grinned up at him, at the nonchalance he wore when being so bluntly improper.

“Are you going to make me tapas, Daniel?”

“Don’t be daft, you’ll get crisps and you’ll like it.” The annoyance in his voice and the roll of his eyes were betrayed by the crooked smirk on his face.

At her giggle and agreement, Daniel slowed his gait and gently took her fingers between his, giving them a tight little squeeze. A look of contemplation crossed his face like a cloud passing across the sun, a shadow that Mabel would have missed if she did not so thoroughly adore staring at his absolutely gorgeous face.

“What? What is it?” Alcohol buzzed in her veins, tickled her mind, made him seem somehow impossibly warmer and hotter and touchable. As she leaned toward him, the upward tilt of her head betraying her wants, she was surprised when firm hands held her by the shoulders and kept her at arm’s length.

“Mabes, darling, I need to tell you something.”

The seriousness in his voice could not combat the remains of drink in her, Christ she knew she was a lightweight but even the effort of trying to focus on his serious tone her giggling. Three drinks and she was tipsy and happy and felt beautiful under his gaze, under the way a hand reached up to tuck hair behind her ear.

“Christ, Mabes, pay attention.” His admonishment was muttered with amusement before he held her away from him again, shaking her slightly to quell her tittering.

“I’m listening, I’m listening! Sorry, it’s just you look so serious. It’s really hot.”

He sighed, but Mabel did not miss the pleased little quirk of his lips.

“What did you want to tell me?” Mabel asked, shrugging out of his hold and straightening her blouse.

“I just wanted to tell you that-that-” Mabel raised her eyebrows, challenging him for the sake of challenging him, “that I don’t want you to do this for any, er, professional reasons. I don’t want you to feel any pressure, I mean, to come home with me.”

“Even if we’re just eating crisps?” She teased at innocence, relished the curse he muttered as he ran a hand down his face and then through his hair.

“Even if we’re just eating crisps. No pressure, no reciprocation needed. I can give you a ride and that’ll be the end of this, no harm, no foul, no consequences or-or anything like that. I don’t want to see my name next to the bloody ‘Me Too’ hashtag tomorrow morning-”

“Daniel, Daniel,” It was easy for her to capture his hands and shake them until he paid attention to her, “I want this, I promise. Full consent.”

 “You’re a bit tipsy to be giving full consent.” He pointed out, thumb stroking over the back of her palm.

“Then you’re going to have to waste an hour with me,” She decided, clutching to one of his hands as she headed toward his car, “until I can give it with a sober mind.”

“Come on then, my tipsy little Mabel, let’s get some coffee in you.”

 

—

 

It took another hour of conversation over coffee, spread out along the sofa in his living room, before Daniel accepted that she was sober enough to listen to his speech about consent again before she crawled into his lap.

His tongue was hot in her mouth and hands were sure as they brushed her hair away from her face and then down across the length of her collarbone.

“God you’re gorgeous.” Daniel murmured into her neck, breath hot and damp against her sensitive skin, as Mabel shifted down onto his lap. Her purple skirt crept up her thighs, rolling higher and higher each time she pressed closer to him, pleased to rub herself down against the large evidence of his interest.

The fact that she had never done this before echoed itself in her mind over and over. It was better than she had ever imagined it, better than the movies could capture, but she wondered if he could taste her inexperience, could feel her hesitance in where to place her hands, or sense that she worried about how heavy she was in his lap. If Daniel noticed, he said nothing. It was all around overwhelming. The tempting nips he bit across her jaw, the urging touches of his fingers guiding her to rock down against him, the hot, heady sensation of being so wanted. She felt tipsier from his touch than any drink she had had before.

“You’re so, so sexy.” Mabel heard herself murmuring against his ear as she ran her trembling fingers through his soft hair and his large hand roamed up the expanse of her ribcage. Daniel groaned at her words, tugged her down on the bulge beneath her.

Her silk pink blouse was discarded with ease, leaving her to wish she had chosen a bra that was not so beige, not so average. Daniel did not seem to mind, immediately pressing his face between her cleavage and dragging his bottom lip along the hot skin of her chest.

“May I?” Chin resting on her best, Daniel’s deft fingers traveled the expanse of her back to trip over her the hook of her bra. With her nodded permission, adept fingers stripped her top bare.

“My god. I think I could love you, Mabel, honestly.” The promise was nearly lost on her, head tipped back toward the ceiling as liquid pleasure flooded through her and waved across her skin, as Daniel’s hands and lips took turns capturing and worshipping her nipples. The sensation was otherworldly—far better, Mabel mused, when it was someone else’s hands tweaking them—and left her practically purring against him. Want, throbbing and insistent between her legs, had her nearly out of her mind as she began clumsily unbuttoning his shirt.

“Woah, woah there.” A hand around her shaking fingers stopped her attempts at undressing him, and though she wanted to be annoyed with his interruption, Mabel was slightly floored by how devastatingly handsome he looked framed by the crimson material of his sofa, “Let’s get you out of these, now.” Tickling fingers tripped over the skirt bunched around her thighs, “Ladies first.” With a wink that Mabel’s lust-addled brain took a long moment to comprehend, Daniel lifted her from his lap and eagerly spread her across his leather sofa.

The material was soft and seductive along her back, only enhancing the alluring feeling of his fingers tugging at her buttons before tugging her skirt off her body. She was left nude, save for her blue and white polka dot thong, and laid out for Daniel to inspect.

“My, my, Miss Darcy. You look utterly delicious.”

A clever finger traced her, running the length of her, back and forth, back and forth, as she arched and twisted in desperation, before finally dipping in to spread her apart, exposing her to the cool air of his flat, making way for his burning tongue. At the first touch of him, searing hot and flat along the length of her, Mabel’s back bowed and neck cricked as she let out a throaty plea for more. Ego on the verge of imploding, Daniel made quick work of her. A stroking finger, murmured words of praise about the taste of her, a delving tongue—it was over embarrassingly fast, a quaking, shattering orgasm that left Mabel crumbled in a sweaty pile of limbs.

She peaked out from beneath where her arm was strung across her face, resting against her sweaty forehead and shielding her from his gaze, to find Daniel looking smug as he licked his finger clean.

“Absolutely delicious, you naughty girl.” His words sent electric lust blooming through her once more, and an embarrassingly needy moan escaped her, bringing a filthy grin to his lips before he grazed his finger along her oversensitive clit.

“ _Shit!_ ” Her body shook under his touch, managing to twist both away and toward him all at once.

“Come here, you.”

Daniel’s kisses were deep exploratory acts that left Mabel breathless in his lap, bare and naked and slick against his fully-dressed form, and she found herself squirming, only happy when he let out little grunts of approval.

“Can I…Can I return the favor?” Her voice was weak, shy as she made up for breaking away from his kiss by pressing nervous pecks to his age-soft jawline.

“Can you return the favor? Well, I don’t see why not.” His understatement was accompanied with a thumb brushing over her pebbled nipple, sending flashes of want through her as she carefully extracted herself from his lap and down onto the carpet.

Daniel handed her a pillow to rest her knees on, before curiously watching as her quaking hands struggling with his belt and trouser buttons.

“Mabel?” A hand soothed the worry line creasing between her eyebrows, then through her hair, “Mabel, darling?” Two bent fingers tapped beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to his.

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Done what?” She stalled, feeling her age and not liking it for the first time since being out with him. It had all happened so fast, really, and it would be a shame just for it to end because of her inexperience.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you _have_ done before, hm? That might be a bit easier.” His hand left her chin to rest on her shoulder, sturdy and stable against her buzzing skin. Humiliated, she decided to lie.

“Well I’ve kissed before.”

“Have you?” He shot back, quick and decisive.

“No.” Her cheeks burned, but she did not avert her gaze.

“Right.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want this any less.” Mabel decided, hands roaming up the stretch of his thighs and fighting against his belt with renewed vigor, “Just means you’ll have to guide me.”

“Now, Mabes-” He broke off in surprise at her having successfully tugged his trousers open, pulling his stiff cock out from the material.

“No pants?” She nosed at the dark trail of hair, pressed her lips against the hot skin at the base of him, “Daniel, you surprise me.”

“Oh shut up.”

She knew the basics of it, had read enough smutty novellas to know to lick the length of him and stroke what her mouth could not hold and bob her head and cover her teeth, and those tips combined with Daniel’s hand in her hair, Daniel’s shaky voice requesting little specificities, Daniel’s free hand clutching and unclutching on his thigh beside her head, left Mabel positively buzzing as she took him in her mouth. Her jaw ached with it, but that was a small sacrifice paid for being able to look up at him with doe eyes as she slowly bobbed up and down the length of him, watching him unravel. Sweat dampened his shirt to clutch to his skin, a hand tugged his own hair to stand at end, and finally he used the grip in her hair to pull her away, wrapping his free hand around hers to wank him off until he finished—spurting hot and wet across her knuckles and his wrinkled shirt.

The aftermath was awkward for Mabel, though Daniel seemed unbothered by their heavy panting or having accidentally grabbed her blouse and used it as a towel to wipe himself clean.

“I’ll send it to the cleaners,” He promised as she stood naked in the middle of his living room with her arms crossed across her chest, feeling more sober and uncomfortable than she had felt all evening. She was still wet with want, dripping even with her thighs closed, but scared to put a voice to anything as Daniel drifted into the kitchen for glasses of water. “Everything all right, Mabes? You look a little peaky.”

“What will I wear home now?”

“Well, I hope it’s not too bold of me, but I was rather hoping you’d spend the night.” He answered, no hesitance in his voice as he returned with waters set on the coffee table and a silk robe to wrap around her shoulders. He rubbed her shoulders, amusement at having surprised her live and wicked across his features.

“You could have said-” Mabel’s attempt at defending her defensiveness were silenced by Daniel pulling her into another kiss, clutching the back of her head, stroking across her ribs, robbing her witless.

“I could have said, you’re right. Or you could have not assumed the very worst of me. I’m an old man, Mabes, give me some credit: I don’t have time for games anymore.”

“No games?” She pressed, an eyebrow quirked in disbelief.

“No games, but I was rather hoping you’d come to bed, let me have another taste of you—hopefully a longer go this time, you eager thing—and then let me make you an omelet in the morning.” His proposal was settled with a kiss, slow and dirty and wet, before he led her to bed.

Daniel made true on all of his promises, save for the omelet. He was out of eggs, but Mabel was fine settling for toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooh. That ended up being MUUUUCHHHH longer than I expected it to be, but I hope that satisfied those few of you who were curious about the start of their relationship. Again, if you have any requests or interest in seeing more of these two please let me know.  
> I hope you enjoyed!   
> Thanks so much for reading! xx

**Author's Note:**

> I know that was absolutely ridiculous and so so corny but it was just for a bit of fun to get my writing muscles flexing again. I hope you enjoyed, drop me a line!


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